The Blue-Grey Wolf
by threeblueribbons
Summary: When you were both wearing your normal bodies, he never looked at you – but when you were wolves, he never stopped looking at you.


When you were both wearing your normal bodies, he never looked at you. Not in a meticulous, conscious effort not to let his eyes wander, nor in a hot-searing-gazes-at-the-back-of-your-neck-only-when-you're-not-watching kind of way. There was simply nothing worth looking at, as far he was concerned.

You understood, of course. You cut a rather unremarkable figure and there was little in your personality that an elf like him would be drawn to. He had been a Companion for nearly a year before you joined and part of the Circle for half that time, so it made sense that you were more or less like the other whelps to him. If you were being honest with yourself, it didn't bother you terribly. You weren't here for him, after all. You were here to hone your fighting skills, protect those unable to do so themselves, and bring honor to Skyrim.

When you were both wearing your normal bodies, he never looked at you – but when you were wolves, he never _stopped_ looking at you.

And tonight you would indeed be wolves, which was why you were a little nervous. As you stalked up from the living quarters into the mead hall, your mind wandered to what the others had told you would happen. Tonight would be the first time since you joined that Circle that Masser and Secunda would be full at the same time. According to the Harbinger, this meant that the Circle would hunt as a pack and descend upon a large Silver Hand encampment. This was something of a tradition on those rare nights of dual full moons.

You had transformed a total of… eleven?... times now, though only four of those times had you been out with other Companions. Of course there was that first awful transformation that Skjor and Aela had shepherded you through, and then the times after that had been group hunts, where those who still partook in recreational transformation went after game together.

There were five of you who went on these hunts: yourself, Skjor, Aela, Njada, and Athis. The other three members of the Circle – Kodlak and the twins – abstained from transforming until a cure could be found, which you completely respected. Ria and Torvar were each special cases. Ria had been invited into the Circle but declined on the grounds that she did not wish to embroil herself in the tempest of controversy surrounding the blood (which you suspected had something to do with currying Vilkas's favor – gods they would be so cute together) and poor Torvar had gotten so piss-drunk on the night of his intended initiation that he'd slept right through it and was still trying to convince Skjor to give him another chance.

Those hunts had been adrenalizing, invigorating, and profound confirmations of why you had chosen to accept the gift of lycanthropy. No feeling in the world was like that of sprinting through the forests and plains of Whiterun Hold with your family – and it was family you were extremely proud to possess.

There was the silver colored wolf with a bad eye, the fastest of the bunch who preferred to full-on maul rather than swipe at his quarry.

There was the russet colored wolf who shadowed the silver wolf like a body guard, stalking from a distance before attacking, always a perfect foil to her partner.

There was the pale colored wolf, somewhere between off-white and platinum, and something about her constant grunts and snarls while she fought made you think she was trying to prove herself. She had no need; she was an excellent hunter.

And then there was the blue-grey wolf, _your_ wolf. The first time you were out together, you were terrified that it was you he was hunting and not the bountiful elk or errant rabbit. Eventually you realized that his gaze was not predatory. Or perhaps it was, but not towards you. You remembered several hours into that hunt when you tried to take down a fox and the unfortunate creature made the mistake of snapping at you in defense. Undeterred, you were about to strike back when a flash of slate blue knocked the fox out of your sight. The next thing you knew your hunting partner had downed the fox and was slashing at it ruthlessly with both paws until he simply plunged his maw into the gaping chest cavity. You watched in awe as he made little gurgling and choking noises for almost a full minute before he abruptly looked up. His eyes met yours and you could have sworn he had completely lost himself for a moment there.

 _Dude,_ you thought quite lucidly despite your current form, _it's just a fox._

He must have known what your look conveyed, because he sheepishly backed away from the animal and scurried over to the others. You puzzled over the scene for a moment before hastening to join them, too.

Since then, your hunts had all been the same. His eyes never strayed from you for long, and if you tried to take something down it was a matter of seconds before he was evidently compelled to intervene no matter how able you were of handling the fight yourself.

In any event, tonight was no group hunt, and even those who usually refrained would be participating. Kodlak, Vilkas, and Farkas saw the wisdom in the occasional planned transformation to supersede the possibility of being overwhelmed by an urge after going too long without it, so you would finally get to see the three of them as werewolves.

It was still a little while before dinner, so you were surprised to see that Athis was sitting at the crescent of tables with his usual serious frown directed at the tankard in his hands. You had figured he would still be in the training yard, either slashing at a dummy or sitting cross-legged in that meditative way of his. You took a deep breath and slinked into the chair beside him. He did not look up.

"So. Are you ready for tonight, shield-brother?"

"Aye."

You sighed. He was not a brilliant conversationalist, but at least that wasn't with just you. "Kodlak told me I can't participate, you know."

He looked at you then. "Mmm. Said the same to me, first time we went after the Silver Hand. Protective old bastard."

Your lips pulled into a smile. "I don't mind. I think my beast will protest at having to observe rather than fight, but it will at least be a good exercise in self-control." _Besides,_ you thought almost guiltily, _you're all so beautiful when you fight. I'll enjoy just watching._

"Aye," he said again, and he was back to staring at his tankard.

Yep, so, that went about as well as most of your conversations with Athis did.

* * *

Gods they moved like dancers.

You watched from a crag in one of the mountains overlooking the Silver Hand encampment. Just as you had been instructed, you traveled with the seven other members of the Circle until you reached the general area, and then Kodlak – appropriately, the biggest and most regal looking of the pack – had nudged you towards the mountain. You followed him to the spot he had chosen and obediently rested on your haunches to let him know you weren't going anywhere. With a nod, he leapt down the mountain and joined the others.

Your assessment had been accurate – it was damnably hard to temper your battle-lust once the blood hit your nose. That superhuman sense of smell suddenly seemed like a curse, as you dug your claws into your knees and slurped up the drool pooling at your lower lip. You watched a wolf you believed to be Skjor barrel into two Silver Hands who had made the mistake of getting too close to him, and they went flying almost comically into a tent.

The two bulky black wolves who could only be the twins – this was the first time you had seen Vilkas in his wolf form, and it had been months since Farkas had been forced to change before your eyes in Dustman's Cairn – were closest to the door leading into the keep, and you found yourself wishing they'd slow down a little. Once your pack went inside, you'd be stuck out here with nothing to watch.

It turns out you didn't have too much to worry about. For every Silver Hand one of the Companions felled, two more seemed to emerge on the ramparts. Like an enthusiastic spectator of a bar brawl, you twitched and jerked each time one of your friends endured an arrow or a sword-stroke and yipped victoriously when they landed a blow. Aela with her amazing grace, Kodlak indomitably marching forward no matter how many assailants he was tackling, Vilkas and Farkas moving in tandem like one spirit in two bodies…

Naturally, your eyes were primarily drawn to Athis. He was the most intelligent fighter in the pack. Whereas Njada was all gusto and growls, and Aela picked off the stragglers to thin the onslaught, Athis alternated strategies. He spent more time scanning the battlefield than the others. Everyone else seemed to have their own distinct goal in mind while he darted around seeing what he could do to assist. Just when it seemed someone was getting overwhelmed, Athis appeared. You saw him get the attention of a few Silver Hand with his howl of terror, drawing them away from Kodlak who had been forced into a reluctant retreat. He took down the two that he'd attracted within a flat minute, giving Kodlak enough time to regroup and gain the upper-hand. Not long after, you witnessed him employ a more Skjor-like strategy, scaling the rampart to tackle an archer who had landed two consecutive arrows in one of the twins. Just as she nocked her third arrow, Athis tore over the top of the stone wall and bashed into her. Gruesome though it was to see, you found yourself internally smiling at his effortless display of skill.

Every few minutes, of course, his gaze would flick up to you. Although you were too far away to tell if your eyes were truly meeting, you knew he was checking to make sure you were alright.

Eventually, the twins made it to the door and strong-armed their way inside. Kodlak, Skjor, Aela, Njada, and Athis followed as soon as they had downed their respective belligerents. You huffed out a sigh and settled back into the crag, upset that you would no longer be able to enjoy the show. More than that, you were nervous for them. You knew it was silly to worry about their well-being. They were all so fearsome, so capable.

Restless, you began to pace back and forth on the mountain. It was a simple matter to navigate the crags and ever-changing elevation when you were wearing this body. You let your mind wander to the usual places it went during full moons – running, fighting, feeding, mating, sleeping. Perhaps that was why you were caught unaware when first clang of metal against stone reached your ears.

You tensed. Now that you were listening, you could hear that armored humans were scuttling over the rocks towards you. You hissed at yourself in disappointment. Kodlak had directed you to stay in that spot for a reason! It was not your place to stray, to lose focus and bumble around like a bored pet. Panicking, you looked above you and saw a ledge leading to a cave. Flexing your powerful legs, you shot yourself upwards and gripped the ledge, hoisting your heavy body after you. You clambered into the opening between the rocks and remained on all fours, as the ceiling was low.

In order to better hear the approach of the humans, you stilled. You could always go further into the cavern if it seemed like they were onto you. You waited and watched the mouth of the cave, listening to the augmenting noises of shuffling armor and clinking weapons. Smoky tendrils of breath left your mouth and nostrils at intervals, curling into the cold night air.

The humans had definitely seen where you went, because their smells and sounds were only getting stronger. A hand rose over the ledge as the first human arrived. Reluctantly, you turned around to head deeper into the cave, only to find that it tapered into a sloping ceiling and pile of rubble.

This wasn't a cave. It was a cleft.

By the Eight, what an idiot you were. You hadn't investigated your hiding spot before choosing it, and now you were stuck because they were already upon you. You watched with growing dread as a human hauled herself onto the ledge, a stone's toss from where you were hunkering. One Silver Hand, you could likely take. Two, three, and – was that a fourth? The shadows manifested before you like horrible wraiths and suddenly one of the Silver Hand loudly announced that she had found you.

Fuck. Well, this was it then. A fight to the death.

Never mind that you were hunched over, unable to properly wind up and attack these humans in such a small space. Never mind that your shame at having gotten into such a compromising situation was clouding your ability to think analytically and plan your attack.

You were a motherfucking _Companion,_ and you would fight until Lord Hircine himself dragged you away to the eternal Hunting Grounds.

The first two Silver Hand charged you. You dug the claws of your feet into the debris beneath you and roared with every wisp of breath in your lungs. Your heart rate doubled as your ears flattened to your head. Taking a few swift steps to meet them, you lashed out and connected with a blade, simultaneously feeling it bite into your flesh and jerk backwards at the force of your blow.

A howl twice as terrifying as yours echoed through the little space. A large, dark figure tumbled over the ledge and into the cave, pinning the nearest Silver Hand and using him like a launching pad to assail the next. You shakily stepped backwards as the person you'd been fighting whipped around to assist her comrade.

The blue-grey wolf who had come to your rescue was a hurricane. He moved so quickly, so violently that the four Silver Hand seemed to forget you existed. You could not tear your eyes away as your protector eviscerated the humans. An involuntary whimper left your throat as a war hammer caught the werewolf straight across his back, but he whipped around a body-slammed the attacker as though the wound was superficial.

It was finished so impossibly quickly. Four Silver Hand lay slain and the lanky blue-grey wolf, now sporting swaths of red, stood just outside the cleft like a god of old. He sucked in steadying breaths, his huge body shuddering as his broad shoulders rose and fell.

You took a tentative step forward, and that seemed to snap him back into it. His previously unfocused eyes fell on you. He dropped to all fours and approached.

 _Thank you,_ you wished you could say. _You saved my life._

He did not appear to be looking for a thank you. Again, you were haunted by that dread from your first hunt, the fear that he was going to attack you next. He did not. He stopped when he was just inches in front of you, and gently inclined he head so that his snout was touching the underside of your arm. He nudged it upward and then drew back to get a better look.

That's right – you had forgotten that your arm was bleeding. The long, clean slice did hurt, but it was not nearly as bad as the injuries your wolf had sustained. He seemed to examine it for a moment and then, to your surprise, began to lick it.

You wanted to yank your arm back, mostly from embarrassment, but the soothing laps felt better than the sting of cold air against the open wound. You relented, offering your arm at a better angle, and he continued to lick until he was satisfied. Although you felt terribly awkward, you moved forward so that you could do the same for him.

It seemed he was not interested in his own injuries. He politely declined your advance by turning away and rested a paw on your back. He pushed gently, encouraging you to lay down. You complied, and he lay down in front of you.

As soon as you curled up on the cold, stone floor of the cleft, you realized how exhausted you are. Your warrior wolf was not curled up like you, but rather splayed, his long body forming a bulwark between you and the rest of the world. He rested his chin on his wrists, his intense eyes never leaving yours, and seemed to settle there. You could not speak to one another in this form, but it was clear he was telling you this is how he will spend the rest of the night.

You had no complaints.

* * *

When you blinked your eyes open, you expected to see sunlight flooding the entrance of the cave. Instead, you saw nothing but a Dunmer chest dusted with light red hairs and some dried blood.

Your head wasn't foggy – you remembered exactly what happened. Athis, as a werewolf, saved your life, licked your wound, and then fell asleep beside you in this cave. You hadn't given much thought to what waking up would be like, but you certainly hadn't expected to be locked in his arms.

And 'locked' was the right word for it. Your head rested on his bicep, his forearm leaning against your hair and his fingers brushing your forehead. His other arm was hooked over your waist, keeping you flush against him so that it would be impossible for you to stir without his being aware of it.

Ah yes, and in addition to being so very close, you both were also so very naked. A blush like a sunburn spread across your face and you squeezed your eyes shut even though all you could see was his chest. Suddenly, you were aware of something rather significant pressed against your leg and for some ungodly reason, you recalled that one drunken night Ria was giggling and telling you that elves love to have their ears touched because they're _sensitive_ (she had wiggled her eyebrows in case you didn't get the message).

Athis was still quite asleep.

You repeatedly told yourself to relax until your heart felt like it was no longer trying to crack through your ribs. You took a deep breath and nestled into his arm, deciding to enjoy this fleeting moment for what it was – a brotherly and protective embrace, nothing sexual, and the whole nudity thing was incidental. He was very warm. A rather loud snorer, though. You experimentally wiggled a little, and grinned when you instantaneously felt him tighten his grip.

When Athis woke up, things would be terribly uncomfortable and you would both need to strip the dead Silver Hand of their armor to avoid walking back to Jorrvaskr naked. For now, you were deliriously happy in his embrace.

You had just about fallen asleep again when he did stir. You were planning on keeping your eyes shut, pretending to be asleep to see how he would react to having you in his arms, but you chickened out thinking how much it would hurt if he mumbled something like "Azura's balls" (or whatever weird Dunmer curse he had for today) and squirmed away.

His grip loosened, and you backed away marginally in response. Your eyes drifted up to his neck, the orange stubble on his dark chin, and finally to his squinting eyes. He stilled for a moment and then swiftly sat up, drawing his arms back. You scooted away too, quickly bringing your knees to your chest to cover yourself.

Athis did not appear to be embarrassed, nor did he appear pleased with the situation. He was so damn stoic all the time. The silence was palpable, causing sweat to bead on your brow, until you realized there was no reason the burden to break it should be on him alone.

"You saved my life last night," you blurted. You reached out and touched his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze and then quickly withdrawing your hand. "A thousand thanks, shield-brother."

He grunted.

Well, what did you expect? You sighed and ran a hand through your hopelessly tangled hair. Something pink on your arm caught your eye. You had almost forgotten your wound from last night.

"Whoa!" you said, looking at your arm. "That's incredible! That Silver Hand sliced my arm half open and there's just this tiny pink line, like it was barely scraped."

Athis gave a humorless smile. "Suppose this is the first time you've actually been hurt in wolf form, then?" You nodded at him. "One of the many benefits. Something about the transformation hastens the healing."

"Does that mean you're not… badly hurt?" you asked a little guiltily.

He frowned, considering. Then he shifted so that his back was to you. "I think I got a nasty whack across my back last night. How's it looking?"

You use this as an excuse to run your fingers over the faint scar. "It looks the wound healed weeks ago, Athis. It's amazing. Does it hurt?"

"No," he said, turning again and causing you to remove your hand. "Yours?"

"No. I'm – well, thanks to you, I'm perfectly fine."

Your gaze drifted over to the Silver Hand. You were starting to get cold now that you were no longer sharing body heat. "I guess we should scavenge some armor and head back to Whiterun before the others start worrying."

"Mm," he agreed.

You both respectfully kept your eyes averted as you changed. The steel-plate armor was far too big on you, in fact you were swimming in it, but you couldn't imagine running into too much trouble on the couple hour walk back to Jorrvaskr.

Once you were both ready, you crawled off the ledge and started heading down the mountain. Although you would have plenty of time to talk during the walk, a knot was forming in your stomach. The farther you moved away from that night, this morning, the more difficult it would be to talk about. And you wanted to talk about it.

But it sure seemed like he didn't. So you decided to ask a question that you would be satisfied knowing the answer to, and it would be up to him if he wanted to continue the conversation.

"Athis," you began once you were on flat ground again. He looked over at you. "Last I saw, you were all inside the keep. How did you know that I needed help?"

He let out a long sigh, a hand tangling in his chin-length orange hair that was, for the first time in your memory, free of its leather tie. "My wolf," he said slowly, "seems to have a bit of an obsession with you."

You blushed. "Oh?"

"I don't know why," he went on, eyes fixed on the stone path stretching before you. "He always has to know where you are. So he went to check on you. Can't stand the thought of you being out of sight for too long." The elf flicked his gaze to you. "You must have noticed him staring."

 _Him_. Perhaps it was better to separate themselves from their wolves when they spoke, as he was doing. "I… I guess I have," you admitted. "Any idea why?"

"I've been trying to puzzle it out myself," he explained. "At first I thought it was because you were attractive, but so are most of the Companions, really." Your heart skipped a beat. He had said it so matter-of-factly, as though this was something you had both openly acknowledged already, and you bit back a very inconvenient smile. "I probably should have talked to you about this sooner. My apologies."

"Apologies?" you spluttered. "For what? Looking out for me? Saving my life?"

He smirked wryly. "Stealing all your kills. You realize my wolf's never going to let you fight a gods-damned battle in your life, as long as he's within earshot, right?"

You laughed. "I do my share of fighting as a human," you explained. "So I'm not worried about it."

"Ah," he said. "That's a relief." You had thought you would slip back into a companionable silence, but he continued, "I may also wish to apologize for the state in which we awoke this morning."

You thought of his body against yours, and your face burned. But now that the "obsession" was out in the open, you felt a bit emboldened. "Honestly, Athis? I didn't mind it. Not at all."

"Hmm," he said. Finally – after all the grunts and frowns and humorless grins – your blue-grey wolf gave you a real smile and confessed, "Me neither."

* * *

 **A/N: I have read so many thousands of words of fluff and smut, I thought it was time I make my first contribution. The plan is to do a few more one-shots until I hit my stride with this fandom and then I'll open up requests. Seriously, though - thank you very, very much for reading.**


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